


In a corridor, bleeding...

by ivorytower



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorytower/pseuds/ivorytower
Summary: In a corridor, Elhokar lies bleeding, the victim of a botched assassination attempt. Ahead of him, standing in his defense, is Kaladin Stormblessed, bleeding and exhausted. Darkness closes in when, all of a sudden, the King of Alethkar's life changes.--Spoilers for all four SA books (just in case). Listed pairings are mentioned/inferred rather than shown.
Relationships: Dalinar Kholin/Navani Kholin, Kaladin/Adolin Kholin, Shallan Davar/Adolin Kholin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 36





	1. In a corridor, bleeding...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Truth is given, a life is saved, and a destiny is changed.

The conversation came in bits and pieces, as spoken from far away, down a long, echoing corridor. He could hear the bridgeman’s voice, pleading with another. No, two others. He caught perhaps one word in five, but the ones he _could_ hear made him shudder.

They were here to kill him, just as he had always feared. It wasn’t the Assassin in White. His father’s killer had no interest in the son. No, he had wanted _Dalinar,_ the man who _should_ be king instead of the one that _was_ king. Even his death, even his _failure_ was a reminder that he was not meant for this.

A king on the outside, a coward on the inside. Any delusions of his authority were an illusion in truth.

Darkness was coming for him, crawling in at the edges of his vision. Shifting figures crowded forward.

Elhokar Kholin’s hearing faded which he, even in the state he was in, realized was a bad thing.

 _Truth._ The word drifted through his mind. _Give us a truth._

“Y-you want to know the truth?” Elhokar mumbled. “You can _have_ it. I’m a b-bad king. I’m n-not my f-father, and I’m n-not _Dalinar.”_

_We accept this truth, Elhokar Kholin._

“W-what does t-that--”

In the hallway, Kaladin was still fighting with the assassins. He said something, and the world exploded into blue and white, mixed with gold and black. The light was blinding, and Elhokar cried out. He felt himself warm. He felt himself _change._ He felt his world tilt.

When the light cleared, he saw Kaladin Stormblessed, ex-bridgeman, ex-slave, and current leader of his bodyguards standing tall, unharmed and bearing a glowing blue and white Shardblade. Elhokar stared in wonder. Stormlight came off of him in waves, like the way air rippled on a hot day.

 _They’re always such show-offs,_ said a voice in his mind. _Those Windrunners. Ridiculous._

“Don’t say that, he’s a hero,” Elhokar said, sitting up. “He saved my life.”

 _He was a delaying tactic and a barrier,_ the voice said again. _We saved your life._

“Is that the royal we? I was told to only use that when I needed to be particularly imposing, or pompous, depending on how you look at it.” Elhokar touched his side slowly, fingers shaking briefly. _The illusion could utterly shatter, and then I’ll be dead again._

 _Not the royal we, though it belongs to you and you should own it,_ the voice said. _We as in ‘you and I’, a collective of two persons, we._

“A... what?” Elhokar’s voice was louder now, and the bridgeman, the _hero,_ turned towards him. He was glowing, and the thing that _should_ have been a shardblade was now a spear, waving with blue and white light. “Captain...”

“Elhokar, try to stay still, you’re hurt,” the bridgeman said, and released his weapon. Instead of vanishing, his spear remained upright, glowing to give illumination to a hallway that was now utterly devoid of stormlight. Captain Kaladin knelt, and started feeling at Elhokar’s side. “What..?”

“You would think that a _Windrunner_ would know a dying person from a healthy one by now, but it would appear not,” said the voice, and from the face the bridgeman made, he heard it too. “I always thought they were a bit overrated, personally.”

Kaladin’s spear dissolved into blue and white light, taking on the form of a young woman, her skirts snapping in an intangible wind. She pointed at the shadows. “Oh, just say that to my face, you eclectic pile of math!”

“I would surely do so, if I weren’t certain you would fall asleep before I got to the good part, Ancient Daughter,” the voice said. The shadows nearest to Elhokar shifted and moved, and floated up to him. For a moment, he simply stared at the shifting form, his sense of wonder fighting with panic.

“You’re one of the things from the mirror,” Elhokar said. “This must be what going mad feels like.”

“No, it’s far worse than that,” Captain Kaladin said, and held out his hand to beckon the glowing woman to his hand. “You have a spren.”

“He has a _Cryptic,”_ the glowing woman complained. “Another one, I can’t believe this.”

The bridgeman turned his head. “What do you mean, Syl?”

“From the duel that wasn’t a duel,” the glowing woman -- Syl -- said impatiently. “I saw one interfering with the bastard that was fighting Renarin.”

“Syl!” Captain Kaladin said, shocked. “Where did you learn language like that?”

“We live with a barracks full of soldiers, did you think I _hadn’t_ learned anything at all?” Syl put her hands on her hips. “Airsick lowlander.”

_Does that mean--_

“I’m going to have to lecture the men about--” Captain Kaladin shook his head slightly. “No, I can’t get distracted. Your Majesty, the ones trying to assassinate you weren’t Surgebinders, just angry men. The Assassin in White has gone after Dalinar and I need to go to him. Stay here, I can find a place for you to--”

“No,” Elhokar said, and forced himself to stand. The voice -- the _shadow_ \-- dispersed and reformed. “I want to go with you. I know that I haven’t been the most useful but I _can_ still fight. I can do that much.”

“Shardbearers can’t fight the Assassin well,” the bridgeman pointed out. “...and you aren’t going to want to summon your Shardblade, anyway. Holding one of the dead blades is unpleasant for Surgebinders. You’ll need to make at least one other Oath beforehand.”

“Our Truths are different from your Oaths... but the Windrunner is correct,” the voice said. “You must break your bond with the poor Deadeye that is chained to that abomination so that you may progress.”

“...but it’s my only defense,” Elhokar said, and even to his own ears, he was whining. “How am I supposed to _do_ anything if no one lets me?” Captain Kaladin stared down his nose at Elhokar, and there was a crawling sensation for a moment, as though being judged and found wanting. _Not so different from any other time, then. Nothing has changed._

“I’ll speak to some of the people here, they should be able to hide you,” the bridgeman said, and held his hand out. The blue woman, Syl, immediately dispersed, and wind encircled the stern Surgebinder, and Elhokar wondered briefly if he would simply take to the skies from here. “Keep quiet and don’t cause trouble for them. We’ll discuss this when I return.”

“No,” Elhokar said, forcing strength into his voice. “Break my bond with my Shardblade? Fine.” He held his hand out at his side, and counted out heartbeats, each one painful, as though shot through by lightning from the storm outside. “Let me--”

The blade _screamed_ in his mind, wordless in its pain, demanding answers to a question he didn't understand.

“Break it, hurry,” the voice said. “If you drop it, you’ll have to start over.”

Elhokar hastily renounced his claim on the Shardblade, and it went dull. He dropped it from his hand, the blade stabbing downwards into the floor. Immediately, the pain ceased, and the pressure on his mind eased. The bridgeman stared at him. He had the sense that the spren, for all she was invisible, was staring too.

“Well?” Elhokar asked, chest heaving. “Are we leaving or what?”

~ * ~

Urithiru... the legendary city spoken of by scholars. It seemed quiet, almost dead, though anything was better than being outside in the terrible storm that shook the tower.

 _The Everstorm... I don’t know if I would have believed it to be told about it,_ Elhokar thought to himself. Dalinar had called the meeting of those who were identified as Surgebinders, though his uncle was insistent that they were the Knights Radiant now.

He had insisted to Captain Kaladin that he didn’t wish for Dalinar to know about the Cryptic, and the bridgeman had agreed. When he’d arrived, the bridgeman had pulled Adolin aside and spoken to him in soft, urgent tones, along with some pointing and not-quite shouting.

 _That’s probably because Adolin nearly got himself killed,_ Elhokar thought to himself, and smiled thinly. _The two of them are about as subtle as my uncle’s tactics._

Absently, Elhokar rubbed at his chest, and remembered his uncle’s harsh, pointed lesson about trust. He was lucky to be alive. One of his father’s own tactics had involved provoking his enemies into duels or short, brutal wars conducted by the Blackthorn.

His uncle had changed since his father’s death, and it was still hard to understand why that, in the face of such a terrible enemy, Dalinar Kholin sought peace.

 _We’ll need to table the philosophical discussion for now,_ the voice said. _But we will need to address this soon._

“I don’t see why,” Elhokar breathed out as he watched the bridgeman stalk away from his cousin to join Dalinar, while Adolin left the room. “My father was a great king, and he used war as a weapon like any other. That’s surely the right way to lead.”

 _Do you really want to be like your father?_ the voice asked. _Do you want to leave your son’s education to others, ignoring him unless you want to parade him around as your heir? Force him into a loveless marriage simply to prove that you must be obeyed at all times?_

Elhokar shivered. “Jasnah was always his favourite, that’s why he wanted her to marry well.”

 _Would she have married well to Meridas Amaram?_ the voice asked, impatient. _To a man who speaks out of both sides of his mouth? Or is that just the lie you believed?_

“I...”

“I am grateful that you’re all here,” Dalinar began, and looked to the bridgeman, as well as Adolin’s betrothed, Shallan Davar. The young woman who had arrived out of nowhere with news of Jasnah’s death, and Elhokar still had no idea what to make of her. “I was badly mistaken when I chose Amaram to lead the Knights Radiant, and for that, I do again apologize, Captain.”

The bridgeman, his expression still stormy, nodded once. “I couldn’t be sure that it was safe to tell anyone of my gifts. Syl -- my spren -- urged me to, but I had had too many things taken away from me. Many people believed Amaram to be a good man, including myself. The very scars I bear are because I trusted that so-called good man. It’s difficult to rely on your instincts when you’ve been so wrong in the past.”

“Understandable,” Dalinar said. He reached out and put a hand on Kaladin’s shoulder. It was an easy, reassuring gesture, and Elhokar fought back a wave of jealousy and nausea. Dalinar looked to Shallan. “I will say that your own gifts were a great surprise to me. Did Adolin..?”

“No, but Jasnah did,” Shallan said. “I was very surprised by my powers, by Pattern, and to a point, so was she. She had similar gifts to mine -- Elsecaller to my Lightweaver -- so she could teach me some things, but our approaches were different. I wish she had survived to see this day.”

“I do too,” Dalinar said, and let Kaladin go, then put a hand on Shallan’s shoulder. “I have... _we_ have so much to do. I am sworn to the Stormfather as a Bondsmith. I will unite the Knights Radiant and we will reform the Knightly Orders. So much has been lost to us, but we will find it again, or so I believe.”

“So, that’s three then,” Kaladin said, and gave Elhokar a look. He looked away, into the shadows where the voice was hiding. “Bondsmith, Lightweaver, and Windrunner.”

“Four, actually,” said a quiet voice, startling Elhokar from thoughts that twisted like the shadows he watched. He turned to see his cousin, Renarin, approach. He wore the blue of the Kholin family, but decorated with Bridge Four’s designation. A long, thin rapier of a sword appeared in his hand. “Glys says I’m a Truthwatcher.”

“Four...” Dalinar said, and Elhokar fought back another stab of jealousy, this time at seeing the way his uncle’s face lit up with simple joy at the news. “The first of a proud order, of that I have no doubt.”

“With four, we will do everything we can to evacuate people from the war camps,” Kaladin said, bringing them back to the moment. “The damage done by the collision between the Highstorm and the Everstorm will kill far more than any war. After that... we need to contact others. My parents... I have to warn them. No one is prepared for a storm that travels the other way.”

“I don’t like it, but with two other people to use the Oathgates, we should be able to manage until you return,” Dalinar said. “Go, but return swiftly. If you find others...”

“I will send them your way,” Kaladin said. “Thank you, sir.”

 _What about me?_ Elhokar thought, swallowing hard. _How am I supposed to learn anything without you here?_

Dalinar nodded to Kaladin, who saluted, nodded to Shallan, and then turned to go. Renarin excused himself with some haste to follow after.

No one asked Elhokar what he thought of any of it, and it hurt more than it had when he’d been stabbed.

 _You could tell them now,_ the voice said. _Explain what happened to you and why you insisted on going out to the Shattered Plains during a storm instead of staying safe._

“I’m enough of a disappointment as it is,” Elhokar muttered to himself. “Why should I make things worse?”

 _You would have your uncle’s respect, his reverence, if you told him that you were a Surgebinder,_ the voice said. _You saw how he treated Renarin._

“My uncle has always loved his sons,” Elhokar breathed out as he watched Dalinar and Shallan discuss logistics. Renarin returned a few minutes later. “Besides, I don’t even know your name.”

 _My name would be difficult for you to comprehend,_ the voice said. _I am a number that increases exponentially but never reaches an end. Hard for mortal minds to understand, and worse for their pronunciation. I have, however, decided on a nickname, like Shallan’s Pattern._

“Very well, what is it?”

 _The only appropriate thing for the advisor to a king,_ the voice said, smug. _I am Vizir._

~ * ~

When the scattered forces of the Shattered Plains had arrived at Urithiru, one of Dalinar’s first orders was to find secured quarters for Elhokar’s person. Servants had fetched the essentials from the war camps, and now he was ensconced in one of the biggest rooms Dalinar’s scouts could find and make secure.

Unfortunately, this meant bodyguards. Fortunately, given everything that was happening, said bodyguards were few, as scouting forces were needed to find more living quarters for those flooding in from the camps.

 _There was a time when I’d have been offended by the lack of protection,_ Elhokar mused. _Now, I want nothing more than to be alone... and besides, it’s not as if a normal assassin could kill me now._

“Just because you’re a Surgebinder, that doesn’t make you invincible,” Vizir said, and Elhokar looked at her floating, spinning form. “No, I can’t read your mind. I’ve been with you since childhood, so I’m familiar with your foibles.”

Elhokar glanced worriedly towards the door, and kept his voice low. “Since childhood? How?”

“They can’t hear me,” Vizir added. “Not unless I want them to, like I did with the Windrunner.”

“His name is Kaladin,” Elhokar said, and relaxed back. “Captain Kaladin Stormblessed. You should use his name.”

“Why, you don’t,” Vizir observed. Elhokar felt a chill move down his back. “He’s ‘the bridgeman’ and ‘the darkeyes’ and ‘the lowborn’. Why would I use his name when you don’t?”

“I...” Elhokar began, and stopped. _Is that true? Do I treat him so poorly? He’s a hero--_

Elhokar had also called for him to be thrown in jail, and only narrowly avoided executing him for his presumption about Amaram. A presumption that turned out to be entirely right. Not to mention the assassination attempt that Kaladin had stopped, nearly at the cost of his own life, by one of Kaladin’s own men. Moash hadn’t been a highprince or a brightlord, just a very angry, common man.

Any amount of confidence Elhokar had been feeling was replaced by both unease and guilt.

“In any case,” Vizir said, cutting through his thoughts. “What do you recall about your childhood?”

“Bits and pieces,” Elhokar admitted. “My mother’s voice, my father teaching me how to use a sword and how to ride a horse. Little things, here and there. Jasnah was so much older than I was, so we didn’t spend that much time with each other, especially after...”

“After..?” Vizir prompted. “Try to remember.”

“She wasn’t well, when we were young,” Elhokar said. “I overheard my father telling the ardents that she was mad before he sent her to them for treatment. She came back, but she was different. Colder, I think.”

“You thought you were mad because of what you were seeing too, didn’t you?” Vizir said, and Elhokar flinched. “Neither of you are mad, and madness does not make you more likely to see one of us. It’s misunderstood, and represents as many different problems as there are facets in cut glass. It is amusing that your father was so poor at recognizing the thing he wanted most.”

“What does that mean?” Elhokar demanded, shifting forward. “You’re speaking in circles while claiming to know so much, just like any human advisor. What are you _talking_ about?”

“Is there something wrong, Your Majesty?” called a guard, and Elhokar froze. “The scouts have news, we’ll try to bring it to you.”

“Thank you,” Elhokar said, and turned to his spren. “Well?”

“Try to remember,” Vizir insisted. “You have heard the conversations, though you pushed them aside at the time. The words didn’t make sense to you at the time so you dismissed them but now there are many, many things that you must hear and find value in.”

Elhokar made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and tried to think. “I don’t know about when I was a _child_ but I do know that before my father’s death, he met with many different advisors, and he was close with Amaram. That’s why I thought he was above reproach. My father trusted him, so too could I.”

“Your father trusted your uncle, too,” Vizir pointed out dryly. “But you didn’t.”

“My uncle _changed,”_ Elhokar spat. “The Blackthorn went soft. He was stubborn and toothless. He...”

“He beat the shit out of you because you faked an assassination attempt and it completely obscured attempts to find the culprit of the real assassination attempts until it was almost too late,” Vizir said, brutally. “He is taking the hardest, most dangerous route for a man like him to walk because he was _influenced_ by the same writings your father was before his death. Honour is speaking to him and it’s never an easy thing to deal with. Not for your father, and not for your uncle.”

“You know about the visions?!” Elhokar exclaimed. “They’re _real?_ What do you mean, my father has never--”

“Your Majesty!” A guard burst into Elhokar’s room, and the king spun. Anger -- to conceal the fear of being discovered -- died on his lips at the look on the guard’s face. He gestured once for the guard to continue. “Brightlord Sadeas has been murdered!”

~ * ~

When his uncle had been young, Elhokar recalled that he’d paced like a caged whitespine. Dalinar had always been moving, prowling like a predator... dangerous. It had given Elhokar a little thrill to know that the most dangerous man on Roshar was kept tame by his father’s hand.

His aunt, Evi, had told both her sons that Dalinar was a hero and an honourable man. Elhokar had wondered if the woman, a foreigner that had come with a brother, a suit of Shardplate, and nothing else, had been naive. His mother had certainly worried about that often enough.

The man once called Blackthorn stood stock-still, rigid, as though he had to visibly contain himself from throwing an absolutely cataclysmic row as he reported the details of the incident to Elhokar. The scout that had found the body was with him, along with Adolin, Elhokar’s younger cousin, and Shallan Davar.

“Palona may have been inappropriate when she said it, but she wasn’t _wrong,”_ Shallan said, fingers moving as she sketched lightly in her notebook. “No one will miss Torol Sadeas.”

“His wife will,” Dalinar said grimly. “And his soldiers. Sadeas’ behaviour and manners spilled down from his very officers to the most basic of his soldiers. We see that in how the bridgemen Kaladin was training were treated by men one step away from joining them. He was cunning, brutal, conniving, and now he’s _dead._ We need to find out who did this, very quickly.”

“Did you?” Elhokar asked, and Dalinar turned to the king, expression so rigidly controlled Elhokar feared his face might freeze that way. _He’d never laugh again, and he doesn’t do that much to begin with._ “Well, did you?”

“No,” Dalinar said tightly. “Our plan was to pin him down into a duel, which I suppose will no longer be necessary. If the plan had been to kill him like a common assassin, we wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to make sure all was following the laws, if not the Codes.”

Elhokar watched the words spill from Dalinar’s mouth in a literal way: sounds, inferences, and meanings tumbled from his lips in glyphs and symbols that immediately made sense to him. They hovered in the air for a moment, then dissipated into motes of light.

 _What’s doing that?_ Elhokar wondered. Vizir hovered nearby, invisible, staying out of view of Shallan’s own Cryptic who was resting on her skirt and humming to itself. “I... are you sure?”

“Father wouldn’t do something like that,” Adolin said, glaring at Elhokar. “None of us would dirty our blades with Sadeas’ blood.”

This time, the words were different. Each meaning was coloured different shades of red, until the final words were the hue of spilled blood, closer to brown than bright crimson. There was something to that, something heavy to be weighed and measured.

 _Is he... lying? Is that what that means?_ Elhokar wondered. _Could I tell that people were lying before? Surely not, otherwise I would have noticed before._

“If you’re done questioning my son, the next stage is to find out who _did_ kill him,” Dalinar said. “We must find out who had the means, motive, and opportunity to kill him.”

“Almost everyone, many people, and a lot of people,” Shallan said, and frowned at her drawing for a moment. She held it up, and Elhokar saw that it was Torol Sadeas himself, dead with a knife through his eye. For some reason, for all he’d been on the battlefield plenty of times, the image made him queasy. “Sadeas was a bastard, and no one liked him but his wife and his lackeys.”

Dalinar raised an eyebrow at her choice of words, but nodded once, rigid, immovable in the face of such bluntly-spoken facts.

“I don’t suppose we can blame that on _you_ spending time with Bridge Four too, can we?” Elhokar muttered, and all three stared at him. “Never mind. So, what you’re _saying_ is that it will be nearly impossible to narrow down one, specific person who could have killed him.”

“Essentially, yes,” Shallan said. “Which doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look into it further. If it was a serial killer and not someone with a personal grudge against him, they could strike again. We don’t want that to happen.”

“Look into it,” Dalinar commanded, and Shallan nodded to him. “Be careful, we don’t know anything about the person who did this.”

“We do, actually,” Elhokar said. He gestured to Shallan’s drawing. “I assume that you recreated this from memory?”

“I did, yes,” Shallan said, and some of her words were pure, clear, while others were shaded. “I’m an artist, I have an eye for these kinds of things. Anyone could have done the same.”

“Then you have conveyed accurately that his eyes weren’t burnt out when he died?” Elhokar took a step closer, and glanced down at Pattern briefly before focusing on the drawing. “That means that this knife wound was what killed him. He wasn’t killed by a Shardblade. If he had been, his eyes would have been gone.”

“Dead and inorganic matter still cuts under a Shardblade,” Adolin said. “What does it matter what order it happened in?”

“It means that whoever killed him was close enough to him to kill him with a normal knife. A Shardbearer. A Shard _plate_ bearer.” Elhokar tapped the paper lightly. Tiny motes of Creation floated off of it and dispersed. _Curious._ “How many can boast that they know exactly how to kill a Shardplate bearer without any kind of serious injury themselves.”

“...another Shardplate bearer would know its weaknesses,” Adolin said slowly, and these words were clear, though tinged with something else. “And there are those who _have_ killed Shardblade and plate wearers before. One of them is even here, usually.”

“What?” Elhokar said. “Who?”

“The one who bears the scars for it, though they didn’t come from any blade,” Adolin admitted grimly. “Kaladin.”

~ * ~

“I think you’re all overlooking something very important,” Sigzil said, once the bridgemen had calmed. “Something not considered by those who came up with it when this line of inquiry had started.”

Elhokar squirmed as he watched Adolin nod in understanding. _Adolin may have made the suggestion, but I was the one who brought up the idea and called a hero into question. Another mistake for me._

“No feeling sorry for yourself,” Vizir said. “I want to see what the Squire has to say.”

“Captain Kaladin was not in Urithiru when the murder took place,” Sigzil said. “Based on Brightness Davar’s sketch, the report from our scouts, and the state of the corpse, Kaladin was already gone when Brightlord Sadeas died. There were witnesses to it, though not yourself, Brightlord.”

There was something like reprimand in the bridgeman’s voice, and Elhokar had to assume it was something to do with the argument he’d witnessed between Adolin and Kaladin not long after they’d come to Urithiru.

“He saves my life one--”

“Three, perhaps even four.”

“--time and he thinks he can give me orders,” Adolin growled. “Fine, Kaladin wasn’t here. He clearly told _you_ about his powers, and he taught you all in secret to use spears and to coordinate your bridge runs. What _else_ did he teach you about?”

Sigzil stiffened. “Brightlord, this goes far beyond--”

“You wanna know about the Captain, gancho?” asked a voice, and Elhokar took in the sight of a Herdazian in a Bridge Four uniform, and thought he looked familiar. Two arms filled out the sleeves of the uniform well, though his coat was fastened a little haphazardly for Kholin tastes. “I can tell you all about him.”

“Lopen, that’s the king,” Sigzil hissed. “At least try to be respectful.”

“Do you want me to tell the story or not?” Lopen demanded. He turned to Elhokar. “Kaladin, sure, he stabbed that guy. He never wanted to talk about it. Me? I win a fight against a Shardbearer after my whole squad got cut up, I keep those Shards. I tell the whole world that darkeyes can do anything. Him? Nah. He turned ‘em down. He hates killing. Fighting? Yeah, he loves it. Killing people? No way.”

“What kind of a soldier hates killing?” Elhokar asked. “What kind of a bodyguard won’t kill?”

“Didn’t say he _wouldn’t,_ said he hates it.” Lopen shrugs. “When your brother -- and you don’t have a lot of those, not like cousins -- dies and your friends die and other slaves die because of war, you probably wouldn’t like killing much either.”

“It was to avenge my father,” Elhokar snapped, and the words felt like shards of glass in his mouth as he spoke them. “It was necessary!”

Lopen gestured to the sky, and out towards the Shattered Plains which had been destroyed in places where the Everstorm and the Highstorm had met. “You feel avenged, gancho?”

Elhokar opened his mouth and closed it. Nothing that had come from the ex-slave’s mouth had been anything other than pure truth, shining like diamonds fully charged with Stormlight. “Fine. So, it wasn’t Kaladin. It wasn’t one of the bridgemen. Who _could_ it have been?”

“A man missing a medal,” Sigzil muttered, and made shooing motions. “Come on. We can’t practice without Kaladin here, but we can at least get some things settled. You’re supposed to be a member of the command staff, Lopen. You can’t just laze about, sticking people to walls.”

“Yeah yeah, gancho,” Lopen said, and waved lazily before walking off.

“These men are my bodyguards,” Elhokar muttered, shaking his head. “I can hardly believe it.”

“They’re going to be, to a man, Windrunners,” Adolin pointed out. “From what Shallan was telling me, some of the Orders had Squires -- people who can use some of the Surges without actually being chosen by spren -- and Bridge Four are Kaladin’s. They’re worthy, but not yet ready to speak their second Oath. They also only have those powers near a true Knight, which of course, would be Kaladin.”

 _Does he..? No, Kaladin promised,_ Elhokar mused. _But maybe..._ “So, what else do you know about the Orders?”

“I did my best to pay attention to what Shallan was telling me,” Adolin said. “There are ten Orders, one for each of the Heralds. Each Order has two Surges and they make five Oaths total. The first is the same, while the others vary a great deal. I don’t know much more than that, a lot was lost.”

“Has she said much about how her Order functions? Lightweaver, I believe it was,” Elhokar said, trying to sound casual. “It might be valuable to know for the future.”

“No, she hasn’t,” Adolin said, giving him a curious look. “...but I can suggest to her that you want to hear more. Unfortunately, I have a lot to do with this investigation, but she should be free.”

 _If I don’t have witnesses, I can ask her a little more openly about our shared Surges,_ Elhokar thought, and nodded once. “If you could, just. Though, will she not need a chaperone?”

Adolin, to his surprise, rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I know the perfect one.”


	2. Words on your lips, unspoken...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a power is explored, a history is brought to light, and a question is asked and answered.

“You wished to see me, Your Majesty?” Shallan stood at his door, and one of her men, the deserters that she’d vouched for, tried not to meet the gaze of the Bridge Four men who were standing on guard. “Adolin said so.”

“I did, yes. Come in,” Elhokar said. It had been several hours since he had made the request, and he had spent all of them feeling nervous. “Thank you for coming, Brightness Davar. I was told that you had an, ah, appropriate chaperone as well?”

“Chaperone?” came a voice from Shallan’s skirt. “Excellent. Ahem. NO MATING.”

“...yes, thank you, Pattern,” Shallan muttered. Her pale, Veden skin flushed with embarrassment as shamespren showered her red hair like flower petals from Shinovar. “Now all of Urithiru knows that I am to be, at all times, appropriate with a married man who is also the leader of Alethkar.”

“You’re welcome,” Pattern said, and hummed in a way that seemed, to Elhokar, to be extremely self-satisfied.

Elhokar stepped aside, letting Shallan into his chamber before closing the door on the gaping guards. “I understand that you’re a Lightweaver, is that correct?”

“We’re keeping that quiet,” Shallan said. “I’ve told people that I’m an Elsecaller, which is -- was -- Jasnah’s Order. I have special gifts that I want to keep secret from people.”

 _Don’t we all?_ Elhokar wondered. “Like what?”

Abruptly, Shallan was gone. In her place was a darkeyed Alethi woman with long, dark hair, a hat, and a white coat. “Like that, Your Majesty. My name is Veil, nice to meet you. Fancy a trip to the market?”

Elhokar saw each word as they fell from her lips, forming into tiny mirrors, false images that winked and twinkled in the Stormlight sconces, all tinged in red. “You’re lying just so easily, that’s incredible.”

“That’s very insightful of you,” Shallan-as-Veil said, raising an eyebrow. “But, I did just show you an illusion. That’s the entire point.”

“No, it’s your words,” Elhokar said. “Though, I suppose this leads right into why I called you here. Vizir, show yourself to her.”

“I suppose that I must if we are to get anywhere,” Vizir said. Shallan, spotting her, abruptly lost control of her illusion. “I suppose you’ll do as a tutor, though you and Elhokar don’t share many commonalities.”

“Am I supposed to be insulted or relieved?” Shallan asked. “Also, you’re a Cryptic. Another Cryptic. Pattern, why didn’t you tell me there was another Cryptic here?”

“I didn’t know, Shallan,” Pattern said, and the lace on her dress traveled upwards to wrap around her shoulder. “Hello, cousin.”

“Cousin,” Vizir replied tersely. “In answer to your question, we are all perfectly capable of hiding from one another in the Physical Realm, as evidenced by the fact that you were presumably unaware of the Windrunner’s spren.”

“That’s true, we even managed to get through the incident in the chasm without revealing each others’ special powers.” Shallan reached out, pressing a finger into Vizir, who spread apart slightly, and buzzed in annoyance. “Pattern doesn’t like to be parted from me, but you seem to act fairly independently.”

“I am older than Pattern is,” Vizir said. “My comprehension of the Physical Realm is more complete than his. Also, never do that again.”

“Sorry,” Shallan said, and Elhokar noted the insincerity of her words without comment. “So, you’re a Lightweaver. Why?”

“...what do you mean, why?” Elhokar asked, stung. “I was chosen, as you were. As was the-- Kaladin. And my uncle and cousin. As was my sister, though it didn’t save her life. It healed me with that first burst, and Kaladin as well.”

“The healing stops when there’s no Stormlight,” Shallan said grimly. “And what I mean is, why were _you_ chosen to become a _Lightweaver?_ I’ve done some reading. My -- our -- Order is for artists, entertainers, and presumably musicians and writers. You’re a king, and a warrior, if not a soldier like Kaladin.”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever tried to be an artist, though I’ve drawn maps,” Elhokar said, unease creeping under his skin. “I’m a man, so I don’t read, and I don’t write. I’ve never used an instrument, though I suppose I’ve sung before. Mostly to my son when he had a hard time sleeping.”

“I always forget that you’re a father,” Shallan said. “We’re also the Order of liars. We love secrets and subterfuge. We weave truth, lies, and illusions.”

“This started when I spoke my Truth,” Elhokar said. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t share it.”

“I don’t intend to share mine, so I certainly can understand why you wouldn’t share yours.” Shallan nodded to herself, and walked to one of few seats and took it. “I’m so mad that you have chairs and I don’t.”

“Privilege of rank,” Elhokar noted. “In the face of all of that, I can understand your skepticism. So... why me?”

“There is much that was lost over time,” Vizir said, and both Lightweavers looked to her. “The understanding of every Order has become obscured by time and the written testimony of those who were not of those Orders themselves. We have always hidden aspects of each Order from outsiders.”

“You sound like you were there,” Elhokar said. “Or you’ve studied a history different from ours.”

“Many were lost in the event you call the Recreance. Whole generations were lost.” Vizir’s voice took on a sad tone, and Elhokar watched with interest as her form, seemingly random, tinged purple. “It hurt some more deeply than others. The Cryptics had vaults of knowledge, though few survived to see them. Those that came after were able to read about the Physical Realm if they knew about them.”

“So, you’re one of those people, but Pattern isn’t,” Shallan said. “I always thought he was a bit of a baby.”

“Mm, yes,” Pattern agreed, buzzing happily. “Shallan, what’s a baby?”

“A young, tiny, and mostly helpless person,” Elhokar said, cutting off any further digression. “So, do you know why I was chosen to be a Lightweaver along with Brightness Davar?”

“Of course I do,” Vizir said in a tone so close to Jasnah’s that Shallan smeared her page, swore, and began erasing. “I watched you for a long time, attracted to the lies that you internalized over the years. Now, you are ready to embrace your truths. You have spoken the first, but there will be others.”

Elhokar glanced at Shallan, who seemed absorbed in her drawing, and Pattern, who buzzed, pleased, interested, or, perhaps like a real baby, was merely preparing to soil his diaper. “What lies do you think I’m holding in my mind?”

“It’s not a matter of what _I_ think, it’s what _you_ think,” Vizir said. “You have spent many years being something you are not.” Elhokar glanced away. “Now, you are becoming what you _are._ That process is not easy, no more is it so for Windrunners or Truthwatchers or Bondsmiths. If this were _easy,_ everyone would have a spren.”

“That would be interesting,” Shallan commented without looking up. “An entire society of people neatly sorted into ten categories, each with a personal companion to keep them company and ask them embarrassing questions.”

“I do not think there would be enough of us,” Pattern said. “I suppose that we could create more of ourselves. I would have to go back to Shadesmar, however. You would have to go with me so that we are not parted while I reproduce. Is that something babies can do?”

“No,” Elhokar and Vizir said together. “They cannot.”

“Then I must wait until I am no longer a baby,” Pattern said, buzzing again. “Does it take long?”

“Longer than I’d like...” Vizir said. Her pattern flared and reformed, seemingly irritated. “In any case, the core of the Lightweavers is truth beyond any other. There are both truth and lies in many kinds of artwork, in espionage, and in politics. There are also truth and lies woven into the core of every person. It’s not just a matter of _telling_ the truth or _lying,_ it’s about parts of your very identity.”

“Which says some very interesting things about both of us, I think,” Elhokar said. “So, what about what I’m seeing? Is that something Brightness Davar sees too?”

“That depends on what it is that you’re seeing,” Shallan said. “You said something about seeing my lies?”

“Yes,” Elhokar said, and there was a lightness in his chest, relief at finally getting on topic. As the word left his mouth, he saw it glimmer and shine. “And other things, apparently. When someone speaks, the words are joined by something else. It’s hard to describe, like chips of glass, stained with colours depending on the intent of the speaker.”

“That’s... new, and interesting,” Shallan observed. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“...so, you can’t help me?” Elhokar asked. “I just want to know what I’m seeing.”

“I didn’t say that,” Shallan said, and looked up at him. “I think we should test some things. Is it happening right now as I’m speaking?”

“Not much,” Elhokar admitted. “It seems to occur when people are being particularly emphatic or their words might be significant.”

“It could be the intent of the speaker, then,” Shallan said. “You said you could tell that someone was lying, correct?”

“It seemed like it, yes,” Elhokar said. “Though it could mean something else.”

“Then let’s test it.” Shallan sat up, and looked Elhokar in the eye. Her eyes, bright blue, were so serious and intent he immediately expected a prank. “My name is Shallan Davar. I come from Jah Keved. I have big breasts that Adolin goes wild for and they hardly fit in my havah.”

The first statement produced clear chips, the second tinted slightly with green, and the last, with red. Elhokar couldn’t help but glance down at Shallan’s chest briefly, and then away. _You’re a married man and she’s almost betrothed, stop that._

Shallan laughed at his reaction. “So, what did you see?”

“Clear, green, red,” Elhokar said, forcing his gaze back to her eyes. “The first statement is absolutely true. It’s your name. The second is... vague, perhaps? Jah Keved is a large place, so you would need to be more precise to be truthful. The third was a... a lie, it would seem.”

“It is, especially because Adolin is _exceedingly_ proper. Even if he wasn’t, our _baby_ would make sure we didn’t get to any of the fun stuff,” Shallan said, and threw a fond look at the embroidery on her sleeve. Pattern buzzed, pleased with himself once more.

“It is true, I perform this function,” Pattern said. “Is this also something human babies accomplish?”

“Sometimes,” Elhokar said, feeling his cheeks heat. The word tinged pink. “And it would seem embarrassment is pink.”

“We’d have to test some others,” Shallan said. “Though I think I can tell where this is going. It reminds me of the lesser spren, the ones that appear when we feel particularly strong emotions. You’re not embarrassed enough for shamespren but you _are_ letting that emotion show through in your voice. Curious.”

“It is fairly curious,” Elhokar said. “So... I can tell when someone’s words are shaded with emotion. So what?”

“So what?!” Vizir exclaimed, and her patterns rotated with irritation that stained her yellow. “So you can infer shades of meaning from people who speak to you with dishonest intent! When you improve, you will be able to distinguish between the different hues of colour, since there are many shades of red, not just one.”

“That seems handy, and artistic, in many ways,” Shallan said. “Some people just don’t bother to really tell the difference between one red or another, but artists usually do. So, there you have it.”

“It _will_ be handy to tell that people are lying,” Elhokar said. “Though I can’t just blurt something like that out. Can lies be identified in someone else reading a lie to you?”

“I don’t know,” Shallan said. “We’re going to have to experiment more. I also want to see if you’re drawing on Stormlight to do this, or if you’re just seeing it. I don’t use Stormlight to draw or to create a Memory, but I do need it to create my illusions.”

“It seems like a waste to use up something so precious,” Elhokar mused. “Especially given that I’m trying to keep things a secret.”

“Dalinar wanted me to practice, so we should both practice,” Shallan said. “I don’t know how I feel about being ‘in charge’ of the Knights Radiant, but all the world’s a stage, right?”

“I don’t have any idea what that means, but I’ll believe you.” Elhokar took a deep breath. “We should see if we can work out what each set of colours means, and if we can hide those emotions when speaking. Then, if we can--”

“Shallan!” The pair turned towards the sound of Adolin’s voice carrying through the door. “Are you still here? One of your lost souls is still here.”

“I’m a _soldier,_ Brightlord,” one of the men protested. “My soul is exactly where I expect it to be!”

“I’m here, Adolin. Come in!” Shallan glanced at Elhokar. “He can come in, can’t he?”

“He’s my cousin, of course he can,” Elhokar said. “Come in!”

Adolin opened the door, and took a step through the doorway. He looked over each of them, but made no comment at Vizir floating between them, her pattern still, though she was likely invisible to him. “Good, I thought you might still be together and I’m glad you’re both safe.”

Sincerity flowed from Adolin’s words, though there was a stain deep within, something red. _A lie, but what could Adolin be lying about? Surely he genuinely cares for Shallan’s well-being._

“Safe as houses,” Shallan assured him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the murder investigation,” Adolin said grimly. “There’s been another death.”

~ * ~

“This is horrifying,” Navani said grimly. Elhokar needed no special Lightweaver powers to tell she was sincerely concerned about the news. “A serial killer on the loose in Urithiru? Targeting officers? We can’t... if we could get the tower’s systems working, we could at least activate the defenses.”

“I’m certain you’ll figure it out, Mother,” Elhokar said. His mother was pacing, though it wasn’t the same caged animal movement that he associated with Dalinar. Instead, it was the busy walk of a woman who needed to make sure everything was functioning smoothly so that the sun and moons kept rising and falling, and the Highstorms kept to their schedules.

 _She could have easily become obsessed with control instead of just organization,_ Elhokar thought to himself, fond. _Though I can see why Aesudan might not recognize the difference. It can be hard to tell, somedays. Father said--_

The memory of what his father had said shattered into fragments at his mother’s next words: “My scholars will figure it out. I’ll simply make sure they have the time to do so, among everything else we need to do. Once the scouts confirm it, we’ll be able to make sure the merchants are better organized. I swear, Sebarial will be the death of me!”

The words had started out clear, but quickly tinged into a colour Elhokar could only describe as ‘light red’. It wasn’t pink; that had a different shade to it, a different nuance. His mother wasn’t embarrassed; she was lying, but it wasn’t the same kind of lie that he had seen before.

 _It has to be a lie that she believes, but didn’t come up with._ “Mother,” Elhokar said, before really considering the consequences. “Who told you that you weren’t a scholar? It’s not true.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Navani said, and affection shaded her words. It made it hard to see that the lie was growing stronger, more entrenched like an enemy on a battlefield. “It’s true, though. I am a patron of the sciences, not a scientist myself. I don’t write original works or do my own research.”

“It’s a lie,” Elhokar said, and strode towards his mother, taking her hands. Navani blinked at him, startled, her violet eyes wide. “Who did this to you? Who told you that? Was it Dalinar? He should never have--”

“He would never say such a thing to me,” Navani said sharply, words briefly tinged with orange before she sighed in frustration. “Your father and I had several conversations about it in the past. He observed that because I did not do my own, original research and relied on the findings of others, that I was not a scholar.”

 _Among other things_ hung in the air, unspoken, though Elhokar could see it floating there like petals marring the surface of a pool of water. “Was he the only one who said that?”

“I don’t--”

“Mother, please, don’t lie to me,” Elhokar said. “It’s just the two of us now.”

“Jasnah often informed me, when I tried to inquire about her studies, that I was no scholar, and so was not particularly helpful to her in such matters,” Navani admitted. “Though, she did apologize for speaking so harshly to me. We were not close after she reached her majority.”

“...but she didn’t say she was _wrong_ about you, so you still believe it.” Elhokar squeezed her hands. “And she _is_ wrong. I have never met someone who loved learning as much as you did, of knowing, of _teaching._ I remember all the lessons you taught me in childhood, though I didn’t always do them justice.”

“Don’t say that,” Navani said lightly. “And... your sister may have been _harsh_ in her assessment, but it was nothing others didn’t see. Yes, Gavilar was the first to say it, but I’m sure he was only saying what others were thinking.”

“More than one person can think a wrong, false thing,” Elhokar said firmly. “And just because you say something, doesn’t make it true. Trust me, I understand now about truth and lies. Better than I ever used to. My father was _wrong._ My sister was _wrong._ You held everything together before Father died, and you’re doing it again now. That’s what stops you from being a scholar, not anything else. We take too much of your time.”

“Elhokar...” Navani said, and embraced him tightly, rubbing her freehand over his back, and up into his hair. She cupped the back of his head, as though holding an infant to be cradled instead of a man grown. “Your words are very kind.”

“Not always,” Elhokar said as she released him. “I have been harsh, foolish, overly trusting and overly _dis_ trusting of the words of others. I have failed at being a good king. I can never be the king my father was.”

“Thank the Almighty for that,” Navani murmured, and Elhokar was alarmed to see the crisp truth in those words. “You’re your own king, and you must learn the path just as your father did.”

“...but you’re glad I am not my father’s son,” Elhokar said, and his brow furrowed. “Is... did you love my father? _Am_ I his son?”

“I have never been disloyal to your father, in body or in spirit,” Navani snapped. “Do not question me on this. _He_ did, or at least, he didn’t care if it was true or not. Just that the possibility existed. Why do you think he threw it in my face on the very night he died?”

Elhokar went still as his mother’s words struck him, chips of colour that pelted him like rocks thrown by an angry child, and while they were tinged with fury, there were other emotions too: jealousy, frustration, loneliness, resentment... but no lies. Nothing _untruthful_ about any of them.

“I...” Navani took a breath. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Forgive me, please.”

“Why not?” Elhokar whispered. “It was true. Mother, you said you were loyal but not that you... did you _love_ my father? Did you love Gavilar Kholin?”

“Please don’t think that I don’t love _you,_ my precious son,” Navani said. “Nor Jasnah, Almighty keep her soul safe. Just because things were difficult between your father and I--”

“Mother, please!”

“I tried to love him,” Navani began. “I did... but no, in the end, I didn’t love Gavilar. I couldn’t.”

“And is that why you’re carrying on this business with Dalinar now? Because you loved one brother and not the other?!” Elhokar clutched at his chest, feeling cold seep into it. “Did you decide you’d waited long enough, but then the war didn’t end?”

“How _dare_ you?” Navani cried. “I was tired of being pushed aside by _your_ wife, and I wanted to come here where I could at least feel wanted, and yes, I _did_ feel as though I’d waited long enough, mourning a man I didn’t love, watching the children I’d loved grow away from me, just as he did. It’s not as though I didn’t have to drag _Dalinar_ every step of the way. I’m a _bloody_ adult and I’ll pursue love if I damn well want to!”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Elhokar snapped. “Not about Father and not about Dalinar.”

“You don’t want to hear much, from what I understand,” Navani shot back, and Elhokar froze. “Not when it could be something you don’t personally like.”

Elhokar felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. “So you think I’m a bad king too? Do you think I should just concede to Dalinar and the other Highprinces like some kind of puppet?”

“Yes, I think you’re a bad king!” Navani cried. “You _are_ their puppet, you listen to everything they say and don’t think about why you’re doing the listening! Even with Dalinar, who has only ever tried to keep you safe!”

The memory of Elhokar’s spoken Truth, the words that had made him Radiant, twisted inside him. “Then I’ll abdicate in his favour, or in my son’s, and Dalinar can serve as Regent--”

“And what good will that do?!” Navani exclaimed. She grabbed for his arms, and shook him a little. “What’s the point in _knowing_ you have flaws if you do nothing to correct them?!”

“Because I don’t know _how,”_ Elhokar cried. “I’m told _not_ to listen to people but _to_ listen to them at the same time! When I listen, I’ve listened to the wrong person, and when I don’t, they’re completely in the right! How am I supposed to correct my flaws when I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”

“There’s a difference between _listening_ and _doing what they say,”_ Navani said, and let him go. She took a breath, visibly composing herself. “You need to _listen_ to what people tell you, even if you don’t like it, even if you _hate_ it with every fiber of your being... and then think about it. Consider what you know about the person saying it to you. Decipher what their agenda might be.”

“How am I supposed to know all of that?” Elhokar asked, and immediately hated the whining sound in his voice. “Even the most straight-forward people talk out of both sides of their mouths.”

“You have people you trust gather information about the Highprinces,” Navani said. “They listen in on meetings or look at documents they might have. You can have people inside the churches too, if you’re going to be dealing with the Ardents. They aren’t political entities in their own right, but they do serve often as advisors, and then in other countries--”

“You want me to _spy_ on my own people?” Elhokar said, aghast. “That’s dishonest.”

“They spy on you,” Navani pointed out. “Ialai and I spent years installing people in the right places to bring Gavilar information. Of course, the little whitespine uses them for Sadeas’ benefit now, or... she did. Now he’s gone, and things are unstable. So much changed after Gavilar died, including the cooperation between us.”

 _She’s completely correct,_ Vizir pointed out, and Elhokar jerked slightly, and forced himself to look at his mother, not at his spren. _Spying isn’t just a thing of shadow courts and assassins, this is a real part of rulership. You need to know everything and see everything, and the only way to do that is to obtain information, sift out the truth and the lies, and then use it like a sword to cut through situations._

“I thought I was supposed to be a bad king,” Elhokar mumbled. Navani looked concerned, and reached out to touch his hand. “So what’s the point?”

 _The Truth is that you_ are _a bad king,_ Vizir said. _The lie is that you have to stay that way._

Elhokar closed his eyes, considering. His mother’s words rang in his mind, and he turned each of them over, and added in this new information, this new possibility. _There is hope, like the light that illuminates a dark and terrible night._ “Alright. Tell me where to start.”

~ * ~

Late in the evening, Elhokar sat in his room, alone save for Vizir, who hovered by his shoulder. In his hands he held something he never expected to have: a book. He’d listened to _The Way of Kings_ a few times, on some occasions since Dalinar had taken to reading it, once or twice of his own volition, but this was different.

_Towards Peace, the Autobiography of Gavilar Kholin._

Navani had written his father’s biography, and that one he’d had read to him before, and there had been others, each of which he’d listened to once or twice in the hopes of hearing his father’s voice one last time. It hadn’t done much good, and even requesting a male Ardent to come and read hadn’t helped.

This book, according to the scribes, had been ‘written’ by Gavilar himself, though his father hadn’t been able to write any more than Elhokar did. He’d dictated this one, as he’d dictated the one to Jasnah, and likely others. The book resonated with Elhokar, all the more so because it hadn’t been written by one of his relatives.

“If I’m going to do this, perhaps I should learn to read,” Elhokar said. “Maybe Shallan can teach me, so no one will find out. Imagine the scandal of a king learning to read, though, so maybe I shouldn’t. I’ll hardly seem like a man, it’s unthinkable. But so is the return of the Voidbringers, and the end of the world.”

“You _should_ learn to read,” Vizir noted. “I have no idea why you can’t, it seems foolish. This wasn’t true in the ancient days. Men and women wrote books and fought. It’s not as though knowing how to do one completely negates your ability to do the other, like some kind of odd curse.”

“It’s a religious thing, other people don’t follow the same rules,” Elhokar said. “Vorinism dictates the tasks of women and men, divided up into what best suits each sex. Men know war so that our children may know peace. Women read and write, turning their pens into weapons and their minds into shields.”

“What if you aren’t a man _or_ a woman?” Vizir demanded. “What if you’re both?”

Elhokar blinked slowly, and looked up at her. “I don’t... know?”

“And what _is_ a man, exactly?” Vizir asked. “Are you not a mutable being, just as we spren are? You go from being a tiny, squalling, angry thing to a scampering troublemaker to an awkward long thing that makes funny faces when you touch yourself--”

“...I cannot believe you were watching me like that!”

“Who said I was watching _you?”_ Vizir asked snidely. “I wasn’t done. You change in many ways over the years you exist before returning to nothingness. When are you a man? When you are born? When you first begin to speak? When you can walk on your own? When you are married?”

“When you’re born, the doctors say what you are,” Elhokar said uneasily. “That’s how it’s always been.”

“Can you fight with a sword when you are born?” Vizir asked. “Can you ride a horse or wage war?”

“No, of course not,” Elhokar protested. “You have to grow up and learn how to do those things.”

“So, does being a man prevent you from _learning_ how to read and write?” Vizir asked. “Does your hand become overcome with painspren and your books spontaneously declare themselves to be fire?”

“Well, no,” Elhokar said. “I’m holding a book right now, even if I’m not reading it. If I opened it and tried, it would just be nonsense to me. No fire is involved.”

Vizir buzzed in a self-satisfied way, much as Pattern had done earlier, though the noise was deeper, more mature sounding. “And if you choose not to learn how to fight or ride, is the declaration of your manhood taken away?”

“No,” Elhokar said. “Besides, only the lighteyes learn to use a sword to begin with. Darkeyed men who don’t fight are everywhere. Merchants, labourers, even slaves. All of them are still men. And, yes, before you ask, there are men that can read. Ardents, or those who aren’t Vorin.”

“So, how does one tell if an infant is born a man or a woman?” Vizir asked. “Can doctors speak to children and ask them what they are?”

Elhokar squeezed his eyes shut. He recalled pacing outside the birthing chamber, having been banished there by the doctors and his wife’s attendants. His father had not lived for that day, and Dalinar had been at war. Aesudan had requested Navani be kept from the process, and Elhokar had agreed. He flinched with guilt.

“Their parts, I suppose. They’re very modest then, but they can still tell,” he said. “I remember when they told me I had a boy. Gavinor was so very small...”

“Ah, their parts,” Vizir said. “And, if one or more of these parts are lost, they are no longer a man. Does that kind of person have a different name?”

“No, no,” Elhokar said, shaking his head slightly to banish the memories. “A man who loses their, ah, parts is still a man.”

“Let me summarize, then,” Vizir said, and Elhokar had the impression of interlaced fingers being folded over a stomach, though his spren had none of the anatomy for such a gesture. “A man is declared so when they are born, based on their parts, but those parts can be absent. A man must fight -- sometimes with a sword -- though they need not always do so. A man cannot learn to read, but nothing stops them from doing so except for ‘Vorinism’, which is a religion created by people, not the nature of their birth. Though, a man _can_ learn how to read and be Vorin, so long as they are a specific kind of man. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Elhokar said impatiently. “I don’t see what this has to do with--”

“If a man can be a man without any of the things that Vorinism says makes you a man, then what _is_ a man?”

“I don’t know!” Elhokar said, throwing up his arms in exasperation. “I don’t know what a man is, except that I _am_ one! Whether or not I can fight or ride or read. What is the point of all this?”

“That learning to read does not make you any less of a man unless you declare yourself to be so,” Vizir said. “Spren do not have men or women at all. Some of us take on voices that we like, shapes that we like, and forms that reflect our natures, but even then those things are mutable. I may learn to like a different voice and adopt it. I may not. I have the _option_ to change and the _option_ to stay the same. Neither of these options will make me any less of a spren. We are as we are. You are as you are.”

“I can change being a bad king if I choose it,” Elhokar said quietly. “I can change being a man if I choose it. The choice to read does not necessarily reflect on myself as a man or as a king, so...”

“So?” Vizir prompted, buzzing happily.

“So I should learn how to read,” Elhokar said with a sigh. “In secret.”

“Yes,” Vizir said. “Exactly. I am glad you have seen things my way.”

“You’re as bad as Jasnah was,” Elhokar muttered. “Will you help me learn?”

“Of course I will,” Vizir said. “And Jasnah sounds like a very excellent and correct person.”

“Oh, she was,” Elhokar said, and gingerly opened up the front cover. “She was... now, let’s start at the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Towards Peace is not an in-universe book, but it is in fact the book written by Megatron in the IDW Transformers comic series (and a shout out to one of my older, possibly less loved fandoms).
> 
> The answer to Vizir's question is *obviously* 'a miserable pile of secrets'.
> 
> Come for the character growth, stay for the discussions about gender essentialism!


End file.
